To Understand
by Siff16
Summary: Harry is struggling and does not know what to do. Things are getting worse and worse and he is not sure how much more he can take. Will Hogwarts, and a particular potions professor, be his new beginning? Or will it be his end? Warnings: Self injury, suicide themes. Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
1. Chapter 1

Harry had always felt different. When he looked at the other kids at his school he saw them laughing and playing with big smiles on their faces. Harry did not feel like that. Not at all.

He kicked a clot of dirt forwards as he walked the perimeter of the playground. Maybe, he thought, if he had some friends, he might feel that way too.

But no one liked him. They all thought he was weird and strange and they all looked at him funny.

And the worst part was that he WAS weird. He WAS strange. And he knew it, and it hurt. But he did not know what to do about it.

Every single time he tried to talk to someone he got scared. Really scared. Even looking at someone made him scared, because he never knew why they were looking.

Sure, he looked at people all the time. He studied them. But he needed to. He needed to because he needed to understand WHY they were smiling, how they could smile like that, and maybe... if he figured that out he could smile too.

In class whenever they had to work with a partner Harry got nervous. It wasnt that he didn't know what to say, it wasnt that he didnt understand people, it was because sometimes he felt he understood too much.

There was constantly all this stuff coming at him. All of these ideas would flood his head and he wouldnt be able to figure out up from down, smiles from frowns, friendship from danger. It would all come at him, all these ideas. He knew that some of them were wrong. Some of them just did not make SENSE. Why would the other kids want to hurt him? They werent spies. They werent robots. They were not out to get him in any way. Sometimes he knew this. Sometimes he did. But it didnt stop it from feeling real. And it didnt stop the ideas from coming.

He never smiled. Never. He was afraid of smiling. But he would feel like every single muscle in his body would light up. Sometimes. And he would move. And move. And move. And he wouldn't stop. And people would laugh and his teachers would all think he was acting out. And he would get so so angry because they just didnt understand. He couldnt help it. He had to move. If he didn't, it felt like he would explode.

He hated himself. He wished and wished he could stop. But everything hurt all the time. It was all he could do to try to be normal sometimes. It was a huge effort. It was like sometimes he would get to a point where everything felt clear, but then, some new idea would come into his head and it would hurt him. It would force itself on him. And hed get scared. He was scared. All the time.

But people didnt really know this. Either that, or they didnt really care. He was just weird. He was just a troublemaker. He was just bad. He was just a freak.

He was never good enough. No matter how hard he tried, and he tried hard, eventually it would all start swirling around. It was so hard to pull it all apart. All the real would mix with the fake so it was like trying to turn purple back into blue and red. And he was so tired. All the time. But he was always moving. There was so much going on in his head that if he didnt move he knew something terrible would occur. And he knew he could not let that happen. His skin felt as if it was on fire.

So group projects. They were hard for him. There was so much going on in his head, that everything going on outside of his head felt as if were just sucking every ounce of strength out of him. It was as if the world was laughing at him. Every time he would feel that he 'understood' that he knew what was actually going on... something else would be thrown at him.

And he was only a child.

But people thought he was a monster.

He thought he was a monster.

And that was another one of the worst things.

So he would try. And he would fail. And so he would try again. And fail again. And again. And again. And each time he would try... he would try a little less. Give up on a few more goals. He wanted to be the most popular kid in class, well. He couldnt handle that without throwing something at someone or yelling at someone on occasion. So. Eventually. It became- just have a friend. Just one person. And then when he would realize that that was too much for him- when he would have more of 'those' ideas about them... it would become... just let someone not hate me. Anyone.

Maybe he wouldnt feel so lonely then.

His relatives did not know what to do with him. They had never been kind to him, ever. They hit him sometimes, when he had done something completely stupid. The one time he called his uncles boss, completely sure that somehow he was in on some plot- of which at the moment he couldnt remember, but at the time had felt like it made more than sense- to destroy the family. He was so upset that by the end of it he had crawled into his cupboard, into the smallest ball he could, and cried.

His uncle had come home that night, after his boss had expressed concern about his uncles 'off nephew', and had hit him. With a belt. It hurt. His uncle hit him with the belt a lot, he hit him really with anything he could find. But Hardy wasnt angry about this. He used to be, but now, if anything, it made him feel better.

Because he was bad. He did all of these bad things. He deserved to be punished. Maybe this was God making things right. And it felt so pure. It felt so clean. His mind felt so clear, as he focused on the fact that... he was getting what he deserved. It made sense. It was right. He brought so much pain, that he deserved pain too. And it made him feel better. It made him feel less guilty.

And so he started hurting himself. First. Bit by bit. Nothing big. Just when, when things were very confusing, he would grip his wrist a bit too hard. When it felt like the world was spinning around him but he was forbidden to move, he would run a few fingernails down his arm. When he saw in someones eyes that something he said had scared them, he would bite down on his lip quickly.

It made him feel better. And selfishly, and ashamedly he felt, it helped him. It made things clear, just for a second. It was never enough, but it was one of the most wonderful feelings when it did happen. He wasnt scared then. He could focus on the pain, on getting what he deserved.

Eventually, it got to be more and more. He needed more and more. It was never enough, but maybe if he kept at it he could pretend it was. He could enjoy himself in his little escapes from pain and confusion, just for a while. Just. Its not like he wanted to hurt himself. He knew it was a shameful thing, another one of the many shameful things about himself, but he didnt know what else to do.

This was clear. This made sense. And he deserved it.

The number of scars on his arms grew quickly. Before he knew it he was hurting himself multiple times a day. Any chance he could he would hurt himself in some way. He didnt know if people saw. He had mixed feelings about it. If they saw... would they stop him? Did he want them to?

This was all he had.

He wore long sleeves. The marks on his arms and on the rest of his body grew more grotesque. Larger. More dramatic. More desperate. When he looked at them he felt a mixture of both revulsion and fascination. Maybe a bit of pride as well. He was cutting away all the badness.

This was something he COULD do. This was something he HAD. Something no one could take away from him. He got to decide. He wasnt confused. He was in control.

But he wasnt.

He knew that. But it was nice sometimes to pretend. To pretend that when he hurt himself, the bad stuff would go away forever, instead of coming back almost immediately after. That this was helping him. He couldnt accept anything different.

So he was weird. No one liked him. Why would they? He didnt even like himself. And he was so tired. So tired of feeling awful. So tired of feeling confused. So tired of feeling bad.

So when he went home that night, woke up the next morning, and there was a letter for him... he couldnt imagine just how much his world would change.


	2. Chapter 2

Unfortunately for Harry, it was his uncle who found the letter first.

Harry was in his cupboard when he heard a loud guffaw come from the living room. He peaked out and saw his uncle there holding the mail.

He was looking at one letter in particular and Harry supposed the sound his uncle had made could have come because of that. But he wasnt sure. It could have come from anywhere. Maybe it didnt even happen. It was hard to tell. Usually his uncle only laughed when something bad was happening to someone else.

Harry hoped nothing bad was happening but that might be the case. Either that or something had happened to his uncle. Maybe it wasnt really his uncle but some sort of government spy disguised as his uncle. He didnt know for sure.

But what he did know was that in either case, it wasnt good that that sound had happened. Something bad was going to happen.

Petunia must have thought the same thing, because before long she had come running out of the kitchen to join her husband.

She took a long look at the letter then let out a sigh.

"Good. Let them have him."

Him? Thought Harry. Who was HIM? Was it Harry? Was someone coming to take him away?

Harry started shaking uncontrollably. When were they coming? If he hid would they be able to find him? He wasnt very big. He was sure he could hide better than Uncle Vernon or Dudley could.

Wait. What if it was about Dudley?

He LIKED Dudley. He knew Dudley didnt really like him, but he liked Dudley. Dudley made sense. Dudley was mean, simple, spoiled, and rude. But thats just how Dudley was. That was just Dudley. He understood Dudley because Dudley didnt really change very much.

Except lately... he sort of had. He used to pick on Harry all the time. But lately... he had left him alone. In fact, sometimes Harry would catch Dudley giving him weird looks. Harry didnt really understand what they meant. And he didnt like that.

But then Dudley, sometimes, would even be sort of nice to Harry. He would take his shoes off at the door instead of tracking mud through the house for Harry to clean like he used to do. He would leave a bit more extra food for Harry at dinner. And sometimes he would even smile at Harry.

It was weird and it made Harry a bit angry. He knew it was silly to feel angry at this, but Dudley was supposed to be mean and nasty, not nice and helpful. That was just the way things were.

Why did every time Harry feel like he understood something that something would go wonky?

So it made him frustrated.

Harry knew he had to get that letter. He had to know for sure what was going on.

This was one of the best and worst things about Harry. He still, no matter how basic it seemed, tried. He tried to understand what was going on.

It hadnt always been so confusing. In fact, it had only started getting like this at the start of the school year. And even then, it had been different.

He had started the school year feeling a bit different. Really really excited for things to start. He was going to make friends! He was going to be popular! Everyone was going to love him and they would all realize that he wasnt weird. That in fact, he was special!

He still had a hard time talking to people though. But that was ok. He could make them laugh. He would make silly faces or would tap his desk as if he was playing the drums and people would laugh and laugh and it was all just really good. He started making straight As for the first time in his life. Things just felt so easy then. Sure. He had a hard time sitting still. He had a hard time keeping all the words jumping inside of him tied down.

But everything was going so well! The last year had been so hard. He deserved a good year this year. He was so happy for it.

So happy that he didnt realize that things started to slip a bit.

At first when the kids would laugh, he would know that they were laughing WITH him. But after a while, when he had jammed his finger into a pencil sharpener and had drank water from the class fish tank and had called his teacher an endless course of weird nicknames... he realized that those who were once laughing WITH him started laughing a bit more AT him.

He didnt care. Not that much. He didnt really have time for it. And honestly, it was their loss. He couldnt worry about a few negative people when he was obviously doing so well at everything.

But then. Things started to slip and slip more. He started to realize that he was doing some things that he didnt want to do, that when he tried to stop, he really just couldnt.

And it started to scare him. It started to feel overwhelming. His brain had too much inside of it. And eventually things started to twist around and around. And then the people, when they would look at him, these suggestions started popping up in his head. These thoughts of danger. These feelings of intense fear.

And pretty soon things got so bad that he started shutting things out as much as possible. He still moved a lot. He had to get it all out somehow. If he sat still he was sure he would combust with all that was going on inside of him.

He was so confused. He started believing all sorts of things he knew were not real. That couldnt be real. He would remind himself again and again that these things didnt make sense. But this didnt stop the ideas from coming, from threatening him, from overwhelming him.

So he hadnt always been the way he was now. Which made it even more confusing. Because he could remember what it felt like to not be confused. It made it really hard to understand why everything had tilted on its side now when before it all was so much clearer.

Sure he had felt weird before. It happened.

It was just... it was the first time it had ever felt like THIS.

And Harry just didn't know what to do.

Dudley hadnt known what to do either. Life used to be so simple to him. Whine. Pick on his cousin. Throw a fit. Pick on his cousin some more.

But things had changed. Dudley would never admit it but, he felt a bit bad for his cousin.

It was like he was too weird for Dudley to take any pleasure in bullying anymore. He would think about it, and then he would remember, and then his gut would drop and he would realize that he just couldnt do it. That the thought of hurting his cousin now just made him feel sick.

It was something new for him to feel this way. Like said before, he used to have little problem putting his cousin in his place. But that all changed one day. One day a little more than a year and a half ago.

Dudley had been in the kitchen eating an afternoon snack when Harry had walked in. Dudley was immediately annoyed and was just about to start yelling when Harry just stopped and started staring at him.

Harry hardly ever made eye contact with anyone. It was enough to throw Dudley off long enough for Harry to ask the question that would change everything.

Harry. With one of the most haunted and defeated looks that Dudley had ever seen asked him, as calmly as possible, one question.

"Dudley. Will you please kill me?"

Dudley, at the time didnt know what else to do. The second his cousin had finished that sentence Dudley became terrified. As quickly as he could he did the one thing that he knew how to do best. He hit his cousin.

What followed was the most horrible sound Dudley had ever heard in his entire life. The most devestated sound. The sound of his cousin breaking.

Dudley had left the room then. It had been too much.

But he had never forgotten that sound.

Because that sound had opened up a feeling in Dudley that he had never experienced before.

The feeling of pity.


	3. Chapter 3

The year before had been hard for Harry. It was a different kind of hard then what Harry was feeling now, but it was still a very painful and very difficult time.

Everything felt... dulled. Everything that Harry tried to do felt as if it just wasn't enough. The things that had once made him happy just felt... disturbingly bare. It wasn't that he got no enjoyment out of them, it was just that he was so aware of the enjoyment that should have been there but wasnt, that everything felt disappointing.

It made it hard for him to see the point of doing anything.

He kept his grades up, through some miracle, but that was about all he could do before he would emotionally crash.

His chores at home suffered. His uncle hit him more and more. It didnt make him go any faster. It just made his head droop a bit more, and it made the knot in his stomach tighter and tighter.

Seeing that what he was doing was having little effect, his uncle then began hitting him less and less.

Instead, he would be sent into his cupboard.

He didn't mind. It was perfect actually. Small, dark, his own little place to disappear.

He slept a lot. He slept as much as he could. Sleep was such a relief. He could be feeling so bad that he was contemplating suicide... but then... when he would realize what he was thinking... he could fall asleep and distract away from the pain for a while.

It was scary to want to kill yourself. At first it came to him as a suggestion. Just on occasion when he would feel really heavy, some part of him would question if maybe things would be better if he had never been born at all.

At first these thoughts would scare him. He would try to fight them as hard as he could. Shove them as far away as possible.

Eventually they became more and more insistent. The feelings wouldnt stop. He would feel so miserable that the thoughts of suicide became comforting. It was something he could always do if things became TOO hard.

He could always just end it. Have it all just be over.

He didnt like his options. But he liked the fact that he HAD options.

That it was HIS choice.

He wished he could stop feeling the way he felt. He wished there was hope for him. In fact, he tried to hold onto hope as long as he could. And even though it was hard, he tried harder.

Until one day.

The day he turned his teachers hair blue.


	4. Chapter 4

It had started out a normal day.

So it had started out awfully.

Harry walked to school. There wasnt a cloud in the sky. It was nice and sunny and cheerful. The wind was blowing, the birds were chirping, everything was happy.

Harry hated it all. The stupid birds. How could they be so happy, how could everything be so normal, when Harry felt he was drowning?

It was offensive. And Harry couldn't WAIT to get to school.

School was awful. But it was less awful than a lot of other things. It had been harder for him lately. He had trouble concentrating, trouble caring. But he felt as if he were to stop caring about school then he would be defeated. If he stopped caring about that, then what would he stop caring about next?

But it was hard. Though he wanted to do well, he had to constantly remind himself of this. He didn't want to really do anything at all. It was all exhausting and it was hard to pretend that learning about fractions was important when it felt like everything in his world was crumbling.

Yet he continued at it. He pulled out Bs. Low Bs. But Bs.

So teachers, they didnt really have a problem with him. Sure. He didnt really participate much in class. He didnt really have many friends. He was quiet. He seemed to day dream a lot, start out the window by his desk.

But he was doing FINE. He wasnt disruptive. Far from it. He was quiet and polite when spoken to and his grades were nothing to take issue to.

So for the most part, teachers just let him be.

Except one. His art teacher.

He didnt participate in art. He was too afraid of what might come out of him if he were to let himself free to start. He knew it wouldnt be pretty, and he didnt want to cause any problems. He didnt want people to KNOW how he felt. He was too ashamed. He didnt want people to know how weak he was.

So he didnt participate. His teacher would hand out markers and crayons and Harry would just sit there and stare out the window.

At first his art teacher passed it off. People were different, maybe the child just needed some extra time to find inspiration. He was an odd little boy. Always looked unkempt. His hair was always matted and dirty, he would wear the same clothing for days and days on end, and he smelled.

Lots of little children smelled. Lots of them looked dirty. They were children. They played and fell and laughed and things happened and they would come out at the end of it with a smile on their face and a big old hole in their grass stained jeans.

But not Harry. The poor boy never even smiled. He always looked so sad.

One day. She felt she couldnt wait any longer to talk to him. He needed to figure out what was going on inside of his head. No one else seemed to notice, or care, and there was obviously something troubling the child. She figured that she would have to be the one to figure things out, the boy deserved for someone to try.

So she went up to him. He was sitting in the corner all by himself, as far away from everyone else as possible, just staring out the window he stared out every class. He didnt notice her until she was only a few feet in front of him, and when he did, every muscle in his body seemed to tense and he closed his eyes.

She looked at the boy and spoke as gently as she could.

"Harry dear, do you think you can please look at me? I have a few questions for you, and I would love to see your gorgeous green eyes when I ask them. Do you think you could look at me please?"

Harry took a few breaths and then nodded.

His teacher had smiled at him and had put her hand on his shoulder and had said he was a good boy.

The second the hand landed on Harry he started reacting. His breathing got heavier and heavier. He started feeling light headed. His heart was beating out of his chest. He started feeling like he was going to die. He felt sick. So sick.

Eventually it was like the breaths couldnt come quicker and he couldnt let them out fast enough.

He was causing a huge scene. All the other children were looking at him, and one particularly mean girl started to laugh.

It was so awful. He couldnt believe how awful he felt. Why wouldnt it stop? Why wasnt anyone helping him? Why were they all sitting there while he was dying? Did no one care? Was this the end? Did he want it to be?

Why wouldnt it stop? He started crying. Gagging on his tears as they fought for space through his hyperventilation.

He was a mess. A huge mess. A freak.

But things were getting calmer. His chest started feeling lighter. He started gulping down his tears.

And then he saw his teachers face. She was afraid of him. The nicest teacher in the whole school thought that he was a freak too. Something inside of him, that was barely holding itself together before, broke in him then.

He felt so sad. The feeling was so overpowering. He was so sad about his teacher. It felt unbearable. He closed his eyes again. Felt all the misery swarming inside of him, overtaking him, and then the next thing he knew... the next time he opened his eyes... he was greeted with one of the strangest things.

His teachers hair had turned blue.


	5. Chapter 5

So that night he had asked Dudley one question. And of course, like everything else that was happening around him, he was disappointed.

All that he had wanted was for it to end. And as much as Dudley was mean to him, as much as Dudley hurt him, he trusted that Dudley would do it right.

If anyone had to do it, might as well make it one of the people who liked hurting him the most.

He actually sort of thought that Dudley would have been happy with the offer. But then. Before he knew it, he got pain. But it wasnt the pain he wanted. It wasnt even close.

And in that moment Harry's world shattered.

There was nothing more he could do but cry. And cry. And cry. And cry.

Dudley left. It was ok. He didnt expect him to stay.

Who would want to stay and listen to a stupid freak cry?

He didnt even like listening to it. He was so pathetic. He couldnt even kill himself. He had to get someone else to do it.

He wasnt even sure what he wanted. He knew he wanted it to end, but he didn't know how.

Suicide popped in his head again and again. It always did. Hed see images in his head of him just dead. Buried off in a cemetary somewhere, forgotten.

It was comforting. He wanted people to forget him. He was so awful, so ashamed of himself, that he didnt want people to have to remember him. He didnt want them to remember pathetic stupid little Harry.

He could kill himself on his own. He knew that. But the thing was, he was scared. He couldnt get himself to do it. He would think and think and think about it. He even made up a few plans in his head of how exactly he would go through with it. Detailed plans.

But he could never follow through. He wanted to believe that there was another option. Another way to stop the pain. But it was becoming worse and worse, and he was getting so tired.

And then today. When his teacher had looked at him, she had confirmed it. It was time for him to go. He was hurting people. He was scaring them. He was trouble. And he needed to take care of himself once and for all.

But he didnt want to.

And that made him cry even more.

It was all so hard. It was so hard all the time.

Asking Dudley had been an act of pure desperation. And it didnt pan out.

He would have to do this once and for all. By himself.

The next few nights were awful for Harry. Even more so than normal. He would wake up in the middle of the night and he would go through the house. He would look at everything around him. But mostly, he would look at everything around him which he could use to hurt himself.

Sometimes he would go to the medicine cabinet, hold a mixture of whatever he could find in his hand, and fantasize about swallowing.

Sometimes he would go towards the knives and just hold one against his wrist and fantasize about all the bad blood, all the evil, spilling out of him.

Sometimes he would go into his uncles closet, grab one of his belts, and think that maybe... he could use that belt to hurt himself one last time.

But he could never get himself to do it.

The strangest thing was. This helped. Doing this kept him afloat. It gave him just enough to get through. And over time, he felt the heaviness go away bit by bit. It didnt happen overnight of course. But eventually he woke up one morning and half way through the day he realized that he hadnt thought about dying once. And then the next day he realized he hadnt felt like dying AT ALL.

It was amazing. A miracle.

Harry. Felt. Normal.

He didnt like thinking about how he felt before, so he tried not to. He just tried to enjoy it. And he did. All summer he had felt fine. He had done his chores, dodged Dudleys occasional worried looks, and even had sometimes even played on the playground.

It was all amazing.

Until it wasnt.

Until he started falling further and further away from anything he could even hope to grab onto and steady himself.

And thats how he ended up where he was at that moment. Thats how he ended up deciding that, all things swirling about, one thing was certain... he needed to know what was in that letter.


	6. Chapter 6

This letter changed everything. He had to know what it was about.

It took a while, but eventually his aunt and uncle decided to go out and about on their day.

As soon as Harry stopped hearing the sound of his uncles heavy feet, and the sound of his aunts severe click clacking ones, and finally heard the slam of the door, he went out to investigate.

He grabbed the letter as quickly as he could. Taking it in his hands so it could become his. So he could make sure that it was real and wasn't going to just disappear.

It was. It was written on a coarse feeling old fashioned parchment. In clear letters were his name and... where he lived.

How did they know he lived under the stairs? Were they watching him? Was someone spying on him? Reporting his whereabouts? Who was it? Who could he trust? How did they know? Was he safe? Were they out to get him?

He started getting a panicky feeling in his chest. It happened sometimes, when he got really really scared, and it just made everything so much worse. It completely took over him. He had a very hard time thinking of anything but the feeling of absolute terror. And he couldnt control it. It stopped when it was through with him. When it had taken as much strength out of him as possible, it threw the rest of him away. He would have to pick up the pieces of himself and pull them all back together in something resembling 'ok'.

It took a while, as it always did, for him to regain control of his breathing. Eventually though, like always, he did.

He had to finish reading. Even if the letter killed him. He had to finish.

Because if he didnt then he was a sitting duck. Helpless. And he couldnt let himself be helpless.

He rocked himself a bit. Hit his head into the wall behind him, just a few times. Just enough for it to hurt a little bit.

He needed to be calm. He could do it.

Eventually he was ready. He read through the rest of it.

A school of witch craft and wizardry? How could that be real?

But his relatives believed it. That was the weirdest thing. It not for that he would probably be able to use his 'process' to figure out eventually that this had to be false.

His process wasnt perfect, and sometimes it was faulty, but it did help him. He used logic. Not necessarily the logic the rest of the world used- but his own logic. When the teacher would look at him, she wasnt communicating somehow her desire to kill him, probably not, people usually didnt go out of their way to randomly kill other people. Maybe she hated him, maybe she knew he was a freak and deserved to die, but she didnt have a weapon on her. That meant at least she wasnt going to kill him right then.

He would go through circles and circles of this sort of thinking. Sometimes the circles made things worse, but sometimes they helped answer more questions then they made him ask. So he used them. He questioned even when he was afraid of the answers.

So. If it werent for his relatives, with as many feelings as he was feeling about this letter, he was fairly sure that if he gave himself enough time he could figure out what it really was. What was really happening. Or at least, what wasnt happening.

But the fact that his relatives believed this was troubling. Because they believed in only things that were absolutely true. And they were very very secure and consistent in their beliefs. He knew this and used it as a check sometimes. If his relatives believed something- then it probably wasnt just a story. It was probably very very obvious and very very normal.

So. Was magic normal?

Was magic HIS normal? Maybe there was hope. Maybe this was why everything was so confusing. Because he was normal in a world that was abnormal to him.

He sure hoped this was the case. He sure hoped that maybe... it was everyone else. Maybe it wasnt him.

Maybe there was nothing wrong with him.

Maybe he wasnt a freak.


	7. Chapter 7

The next few days passed quickly.

If Harry were to be completely honest, he would say that wasnt totally sure all that had gone on.

His relatives, including Dudley, had completely stopped speaking to him.

This was alright. He didnt like feeling so alone, but his relatives had never been very good company anyways.

What bothered him most was that he would catch them whispering. Mostly they did this when he wasnt supposed to be around, but not always.

It was like they were trying to be careful, but were too lazy not to be somewhat careless.

Harry knew that he scared them. Aunt Petunia had even told him straight to his face that wished that he would just be normal so he would stop traumatizing her family.

What he wished he could tell her was that he wished that he could be normal too.

And that he was sorry.

So he would hear them talking. He would catch bits and pieces of what they were saying, each one making less and less sense and making him more and more confused.

He was always confused now. And he was so confused that it was almost a blessing. Because he had no time or energy at all to figure anything out any more. So he was just constantly confused. Sometimes hed feel himself coming back, but most of the time it felt like his head was doing its swirling colors thing, and he usually just didnt have the energy to make sense of it.

He knew that his aunt and uncle had signed a letter saying that he was supposed to go to the school of magic. They had told him. He was pretty sure he could remember them telling him that. Or maybe it was a dream. It was hard to be sure. Sometimes things felt like a dream and then later he found out they had actually happen, and sometimes things he thought actually happened turned out to be dreams.

It wad all confusing. But he was pretty sure they had said 'good riddance' to him after they had told him they were shipping him off so his kind could deal with him. He was pretty sure that was what they said. Or something like that. He was pretty sure he was remembering it from real life and not from a dream.

His aunt had even packed him a bag. It was sitting right outside his cupboard door. He was so happy that she did that. It was a bit of an anchor. The bag was real, so that meant he WAS really going away.

He was excited. And scared. And confused. And so many other things.

He had been pacing more and more. Talking to himself sometimes. He wasnt sure what he was saying sometimes but he did know it always felt very important.

His relatives ignored him for the most part. They were tired of dealing with him. And Harry understood. He was tired of dealing with himself too. He could be really hard to deal with.

Sometimes he was afraid the people at his new school would think he was hard to deal with too. But honestly. He didnt super care. He only half believed that the school existed anyways. He was constantly waiting for someone to jump out and tell him it was a joke. To figure out it was one of yet another things he understood incorrectly.

But so far that hadnt happened.

And when the giant man walked into his house with a magic stick that he called a wand...

Harry fell fast to the floor.

Giggling.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry couldnt stop laughing. It was like a dam had burst inside of him. Here he was fighting against the ridiculousness bombarding him in the regular world, and then the most ridiculous real thing happens.

It was just so funny. So ironic.

Hed reached his breaking point. At least... for the moment.

He just had to laugh. And laugh. Because if he didnt laugh, he was afraid that he may start to cry.

Why couldnt he have a break, just for once?

He noticed that the giant man was looking at him funny.

Nothing new there. Except... if this was a person from his new school...

He needed to stop. He couldnt let them know that he was... weird. He didnt yet know how weird THEY were, and maybe if they werent really like him... if they didnt understand him either, maybe they wouldnt want him to come.

He had to try to be normal. Had to try to hide it from them.

But he couldnt stop laughing.

He had to stop laughing. Somehow.

He knew the answer.

He bit down on his tongue HARD.

Really hard. To the point he wasnt sure if his tongue was still attached. What if he swallowed his own tongue?

Maybe that would be for the best. At least then he wouldnt be able to talk and accidently give himself away.

He put a hand over his mouth. This served two purposes. It made it look like he was trying to make sure he stopped laughing, which would be a 'normal' thing to do, and it let him check for his tongue.

It was still there. His hand had come back bloody but his tongue was still there. That was good. He liked his tongue, even if he was scared of what might come out of his mouth because of it.

He was so happy that he was able to stop laughing. It was a point for him. Maybe he would be able to do this. Maybe this could be his fresh start.

He just had to keep it together. He didnt want the giant man to send any messages to the strange people spying on him. The witches and the wizards. He was sure that if they wanted to, the witches and wizards would have lots of ways of hurting him.

His stomach flopped with this thought. Maybe he didnt want to go. He didnt want to be even more scared. But...

But... he couldnt live the life he was living right now anymore. If he went away, maybe things would change. Maybe things could get better.

He had to hope. And because of that, he needed to make a good impression.

With that, he took some big breaths and walked up to the giant man.

The giant man looked at him with a smile, a little concern on his face, and gave him a clap on the back and a great big "Good to see ya Harry"

And Harry. Unlike with his art teacher, somehow managed to hold it together.

But the question in his mind, as he braved a quick glance at the huge man in front of him was, for how long?


	9. Chapter 9

The magical world was incredible. As soon as Harry and the giant man, who he learned was named Hagrid, walked through the brick wall and into this place... Harry knew it would be better.

There were colors everywhere. And people. And everyone had so much energy. HE always had so much energy and so did these people! It was perfect, it was right, he was home.

He knew he still couldnt talk. How he wanted to talk though, how the words felt as if they were erupting inside of him begging for release. He wanted them to join this wonderful new world around him. But he knew.

He knew he couldnt take that chance just yet.

Sure, this world seemed like it made more sense then his old one. But that was just on first glance. And maybe it was just because he was so desperate, because he so wanted something to finally make sense.

He couldnt blow it now.

He had to stay in control.

He had to keep his energy down a bit.

He wanted to dance in the street in joy. In happiness. In relief.

His body wanted to move. So. He started to rock. While he and Hagrid went from store to store... Harry moved in whatever way he could. As subtly as he could.

Because he was still afraid.

Because. He wanted to avoid the fact... that he was still confused.

Even here, when people looked at him, he got the feeling that they knew something about him. That they knew more than maybe he knew about himself. It was as if they were looking through him.

And he felt as if he knew each and every giggle, each and every sign that he saw, was just there to threaten him. To scare him.

It was the same feelings he had at home.

Even with Hagrid. Hagrid had been so nice to him. But he didnt really know Hagrid. He didnt really know anyone here.

And as he thought more and more about it, his chest started getting heavier and heavier. Pretty soon he found himself gasping. Gasping for air.

He was down on the ground. The world was spinning around him yet again. This new world. This world that was supposed to be perfect. This world that was supposed to take him away from his problems, away from feeling like a freak. This world that was supposed to solve everything.

And he was messing it up. Already he was messing it up.

He was aware of people looking. He was in the middle of the street and he was aware that there were endless people coming from endless places in endless directions. And he was scared. Because he wasnt really sure, again, what was going on. What the people were looking at him for. Who was screaming.

He was screaming. It was him. Not them. But he wished they would stop looking. He wished the voices in his head, the ones telling him, suggesting to him all these things that he tried so hard to ignore, would just SHUT UP. He wished they would just leave him alone.

He started crying. And crying. And crying.

And then. He threw up.

He was shivering. The world was coming up to swallow him whole. He would be no more. He wouldnt be in any more pain. Everything would be right with the world. It would just suck him away and that would be the end of everything.

He waited for it.

And was surprised when the next thing that happened was he found himself held tight in big warm arms.

He sputtered. He couldnt stop. But this was so comforting. No one had ever really held him like this. No one had ever really protected him like this. No one had ever grabbed him when he was spinning, when the world was spinning, and held him tightly and securely like this.

He stopped. It was as if all energy inside him just... stilled. His body had had enough. And with a few sputtering gulps, Harry closed his eyes.

And tried to enjoy the feeling of not being alone.


	10. Chapter 10

Harry didn't know where he was, which wasn't unusual, but what was unusual was that he felt comfortable.

Like we was floating. Kind of like he was floating on clouds.

He didnt want to open his eyes because this was just about the nicest he could remember feeling in a really long time.

Like his body was being rocked.

He didnt even feel like he needed to move. He just felt calm and comfortable.

And then everything started feeling heavy. But it was a good heavy. Like he was falling into his body.

And he fell asleep.

...

Little did Harry know that while he was feeling good, those around him definitely were not.

Dumbledore was puzzled. Hagrid had come in with little Harry in his arms and they had looked so sweet so close and comfortable together. Dumbledores eyes twinkled when he looked at the pair, glad that they had already formed such a strong bond.

But they soon stopped twinkling after Hagrid had explained what had happened.

And now he was worried. Both for the child, and for what this would mean for the times ahead.

If there was something wrong with Harry, then there would be even worse consequences for the war.

He needed something done for the boy now. Right away.

He was waiting for Severus. He always knew what to say in these sort of situations. These situations where Albus could only look at and think of all that he couldnt do. He could do so much, understand so much, but he didnt understand everything. He couldnt 'fix' everything.

And Severus understood this. Severus was one of few who saw Albus as what he truly was, fallible.

And Albus really needed that right now. Someone who could see that Albus... needed help.

And until Severus could get there, Albus had done what he thought was best.

Potions.

He had let that boy sleep.

At first it had been fitfully. With Harry, muttering so many things that concerned Albus.

He had said he was bad. Evil. Confused. So confused. Had begged for it to just stop. For the world to stop. He had begged for everything to just go away. He had begged to be let to sleep forever.

Albus couldnt let it be forever.

But looking down at the boy, he decided, that while it couldnt be forever- he could give this child 'now'.

He would let him sleep. Would let him rest.

And then. Everything for the child, could hopefully begin again.


	11. Chapter 11

Severus was annoyed.

He was just in the middle of doing absolutely nothing important when the headmaster called for him.

Probably about something even LESS important.

He made his way down the hallways to see what the wretched man wanted with him now.

He was sure he was not going to enjoy this conversation.

And he was absolutely right

...

The second he opened the door he found a highly worried Albus. He could tell of course, right away, that something was very wrong.

He glided towards his normal chair and sat down resolutely.

He was going to need his strength for whatever the headmaster had to tell him.

He waited for the headmaster to say something. Anything. That would further cue him in to whatever was going on.

But the headmaster was very still.

The ordinary person would not think anything of it particularly. It looked as if, to the untrained eye, that the older man was just concentrating. That he wasnt particularly bothered, just focused on whatever he happened to be thinking.

But Severus knew the truth. When the headmaster got this quiet, this still, something- something big that he couldnt immediately grasp, immediately solve- was on his mind.

Finally the headmaster spoke. There was no twinkle in his eye, no smile on his face, nothing at all remotely reassuring when he looked at Severus and said-

"There is something wrong with Harry."

...

Severus couldnt believe that this was what he had been called down for, to hear about Potter. The boy was supposed to be home with his relatives, away from him for a bit longer. Of course for Severus this time period was not long enough, but he felt, no matter how unsatisfying the reminder that the Potter boy was going to eventually arrive, he was due these last few days Potter free.

But of course not. No. Potter was already insistent on infiltrating every aspect of Severus's life. Already. And he hadnt even gotten the chance to say good bye to his free time. To his sanity.

The man rambled on. Saying how Potter was... acting strangely.

At first this annoyed Severus. Because of course Potter would do whatever it took to get attention. But as he listened further and further, Severus became more and more confused.

Conflicted. Of course, the boy could be just acting. Just looking to set himself up, again, as the center of everyones universe.

But... the more and more he heard, the less it made sense.

The boy had cried.

Not the tears of a child with everything in the palm of their grubby hand, but the tears of someone- feeling somehow- in some serious way- of having something without.

The tears of someone lost, without a way of finding themselves. The tears of someone completely desperate, completely helpless.

And almost defeated.

Severus knew how that felt. He knew what it felt to feel as if, everything worth existing for, was missing. Gone. Taken from him.

And reaching out for it, wanting it so badly, and having to face the reality again and again... of not getting it. Of having the door slammed in his face again and again. Until it hurt to hope that anything would be able to fill again all that had been drained away.

What he heard from Albus, the reports of uncontrollable crying, the overheard mutterings of self hatred... it sounded as if the boy were truly lost.

But the child was still a Potter. And if the father had been good at manipulating those around him, it could be suggested that the apple might not fall from the tree.

He knew he needed to say something to Albus. He just was not sure what. But if this was a problem, he knew he would have to work to solve it.

And that meant talking to the boy.

Now.


	12. Chapter 12

The boy was certainly strange.

The second Severus walked into the room the boy bolted upright. His red eyes were popping out in an animalistic fashion, and he was sweating.

He smelled. Badly. Severus was half way across the room and already he could smell it. It was vile, an odor that had sat on the boy so long that it had taken up elements of all that the child had encountered.

Dirt. Bile. Sweat.

The smell of fear.

Severus knew that he was going to have to be cautious. The child, even if he was a Potter, was obviously terrified. Usually this wouldnt bother Severus, he 'terrified' his students all the time.

But this was different.

He took a few steps forwards, slowly. He was careful to keep himself in full sight of the boy. He wanted to keep his movements as obvious and uncomplicated as possible. He wanted the boy, the terrified child, to feel as in control as he possibly could of the situation.

When he finally reached the child, who was shaking and near hyperventilation, he pulled up a chair. It was best not to invade the childs space, not yet. It was obvious the boy didnt trust him. And he was not going to make that worse if he could help it.

He stopped for a moment. Questioned why he cared. For a minute he was angry that somehow he did. But then he looked at Harry.

This was NOT the way Harry Potter was supposed to be.

This was NOT what he wanted for Lily's son.

Harry was supposed to be spoiled, cocky, not wanting for anything in the world.

Instead. What he was met with, what he could not turn his eyes from, was a totally different child.

And he needed to do something about it.

If not for the boy, then for his mother.

But if he were forced to admit it, if he had to dig deeply down inside of him, he would have to say...

He was doing it for the child too.

...

Harry was terrified. There was a man, a demon, a monster, coming towards him. He was wearing all black and was one of the most frightening looking people he had even seen.

It was the devil come to take him away, to punish him.

He didnt want to go. He was scared. He was so so rotten for being scared when he knew he deserved all that this man could do to him and more, but he was still afraid.

He was selfish and awful and he just couldnt stand it.

He couldnt stand himself.

The man was coming towards him. There was nothing he could do. He was trapped. Why couldnt the man just get it over with? Why was he moving so slowly? Was this part of it? Was he trying to make it go as slowly as possible?

Harry started breathing heavier and heavier. The longer it took the more he was able to imagine all the bad things that he was sure the man was going to do to him.

He knew that feeling comfortable was too good to be true.

He had woken up, just as the man had walked in, and had realized that instead of being on a cloud he was in an ordinary bed.

He supposed that was ok. It probably wouldnt have made sense for him to be on a cloud, but it was still a bit disappointing.

If he were on a cloud, he would be away from everything. If he could feel as good as he did when he believed about the cloud, then he could just float away forever from the world and just be done.

He couldnt stop shaking. He was breathing faster and faster. He was so upset and scared.

But it was time for him to face his sins. This man had come to make sure that he did.

He closed his eyes. He hoped the man would have a little bit of mercy and allow them to stay shut. He didnt want to see. There was so much going on that the ability to shut down one of his sense was an almost overwhelming relief. He didn't want to see.

But he could hear. He heard the man pull something over towards Harry. Harry hoped whatever it was wouldnt hurt too much.

He really wished he could shut his ears too.

The man said something. Harry couldnt hear. He didnt want to hear. The man repeated himself.

His voice was deep but soft. Soothing. Not scary.

But what he said was terrifying.

"Mr. Potter, I think we need to have a discussion".

About what? About what? About what? About what?

Harry needed to know this. He needed to risk it. No matter how bad it was going to be, not knowing was even worse.

He was so tired of being confused all of the time.

So he opened his eyes. He put every ounce of strength into looking at the man.

And what he saw on his face. Was so welcome. So terrifyingly welcome.

That Harry gave the man a hug.

Because what was on his face, on this face of a total stranger, was compassion.

Was concern.

Was hope.


	13. Chapter 13

The boy was hugging him.

Severus had to resist every impulse to push him off.

The child had gone from total fear to total relief, and it was simply, bizarre to see.

He wasn't sure what to do.

He wasnt an affectionate man by any means. Albus occasionally hugged him, a death eater from time to time under the height of raised endorphins would give him a casual squeeze, but the last person to hug him with this amount of fierceness...

Was Lily.

And in that moment Severus hated the boy.

Because he knew in that moment, that after that moment, hating this child in any way would no longer be possible.

But it didnt mean he had to hug back.

He couldnt let himself do that.

Not yet.

He couldnt hold on to the boy right now, but that didnt mean the boy wasnt allowed to hold on to him.

The child needed something to hold onto.

...

Harry was so absorbed in this feeling. Everything was so clear. This man was NOT here to hurt him. And it was so infrequently that he was able to know anything for certain that Harry found he just could not let go.

Its not like he hugged people often. But this man, he had looked in his eyes, and he had felt as if the man had understood.

That he cared. That he was concerned. That he was understood.

And right now, that was enough.

Harry, from somewhere deep inside of him, let out a small whisper. One that could barely be heard if one didnt bother to listen.

With all the openness, hope, and trust in the world, Harry managed to whisper two words.

"You understand"

And with that Harry squeezed even harder.

...

Severus did not understand. Not really. Not yet.

He understood that the child was definitely troubled. He understood that this was a serious situation. He understood the child was desperate, afraid, and alone.

He understood that this child could no longer be alone.

But he did not understand this child.

That would take time. That would take a lot of things.

Severus was not sure he would be able to provide them. But as the art teacher before had felt but had been unable to fully do, Severus figured that he had to try.

And to do that. He was going to have to listen.

But not right this second. Not now.

Not until Harry was ready.

Not until he was ready to let go of the comfort that Severus provided, and face whatever had made him feel as if he had to hold on so tight.


	14. Chapter 14

Harry was not ready.

But he also knew, like he always knew when he was dreaming, that it wouldnt last forever.

That he would have to let go eventually.

He just didnt want to right now.

...

After a while Madame Pomfrey came in to check on her very very special patient. Earlier in the day she had been there when Hagrid had come in with Harry. He had claimed that Harry had just melted down. That it had seemingly come out of the blue. That the child had worked himself into such a state as to completely pass out, completely give himself over to exhaustion.

Madame Pomfrey had felt so much pity for the boy when she had heard all of this news. Already he, by the circumstances of his parents death, had been slated to have a very complicated life. And now it was going to be even more complicated.

She had focused on this for a long minute, feeling a rush of emotions, a rush of protectiveness, for this innocent child.

She really hoped that somehow he would make it through.

But she did not know how to help him. She knew all about how to cure physical ailments. If the boy had come in with a broken leg she would be able to fix him and send him on his way, good as new.

That was not the case here. She could send him away now, but she felt that instead of him getting better- becoming 'good as new'- without some serious help, he would just get worse.

She wished she could help him.

But she didnt know if anyone really could.

Which was why she was astounded when she walked in on the tender scene, of Harry, swept up in the arms of the least tender man she happened to know.

...

Poppy walked further into the room, quickly, charged by what she was seeing.

What was going on?

As she made her way across her room Severus caught her eye. With a quick but graceful movement of one of his arms he put a finger up to his mouth in the universal gesture of, 'please be quiet'.

Poppy struggled with the thought of that. Her puzzlement at the situation almost compelled her to start a line of questioning.

But then she saw Harry's face.

And without a word she walked back to her office.

...

Meanwhile, Severus was weighing his options. He couldnt stay like this with the child forever. As much as he wanted to give Harry all the time, all the strength that he could, this could not go on forever.

He was willing to wait. But he was not willing to wait without... at least doing something.

Because, eventually, he would need to speak to the child. Eventually this scene, he figured, would have to turn from calm waters... to a dynamic storm.

And he was going to help the child as best that he could with the transition.

But he knew, that right in that moment, he could not let go. He could not break the trust the child was showing him. He could not in any way afford to let this child believe that he was being rejected. He had to do something else.

And with that. He started to tell a story.


	15. Chapter 15

"I knew your mother. We were good friends in fact.

I didnt come from the best household. My father... was a bitter and unpleasant man. He was more fond of alcohol than he was me, and I, as a consquence, was even less fond of him.

He was, never very kind to my mother. He left her in a constant state of terror. He hit her. No matter what she did, it was never enough for him.

I lived in the house as well, of course. My father was as cruel to me as he was to my mother. He would beat me often, hitting me with whatever was closest. Whatever would inconvenience him the least. And he would not stop until I felt broken.

That is not to say that I gave in easily. I did not. Every time he would hit me, I would tell myself that, I was not going to give in. I would tell myself that this time, I was going to win.

But I never did. At least, not until I met your mother. We were both about your age then.

We became friends quickly, and as soon as we did, I noticed things that I had never paid very much attention to before. I noticed that instead of desperately shooing your mother, Lily, out the door every morning (for my mother was desperately afraid I would do something to upset my father), Lilys mother sent her out with a kiss. I noticed that Lily always had good things to eat, even chocolates sometimes.

I noticed that your mother never had bruises.

As we became better friends, learned about each other more, it started to become harder to hide the truth.

Your mother. She was perfect. But my life, it was far from it.

I became desperate to keep the truth of what was going on in my house from Lily. I knew that I would not be able to forgive myself if I hurt her, that I couldnt let the pain happening in my life effect her in any way.

But your mother, she did something amazing. She listened.

No matter what I said, she listened. She never looked down on me, never dismissed me as 'the poor boy from Spinners End' as many others had done before, instead, she listened.

And for the first time, I started feeling as if there was someone out there that I could trust.

I felt bad frequently, disgusted with myself. I was afraid that listening to me was tainting her. That I was falling and instead of dealing with it myself, I was bringing the one person that I cared about most in the world, down with me.

She had to push me, and she did."

With this Snape pauses.

"Harry. What your mother did for me is something that I will never be able to repay enough. She was there for me in a time where I was confused. Where I felt weak. Where I needed someone to hold onto. Where I needed someone to help me. I do not expect it to be enough, and I am not going to offer this with any expectation placed upon you, but,

I would like you to know that I am listening."


	16. Chapter 16

Severus was... not sure how he felt about the current situation. As soon as he had told the boy his story he was seized with a deep feeling of regret.

He didnt know this child. He had just spilt a good deal of his life story, and a particularly sensitive bit at that, to a child that he didnt know.

Plus. He had now offered something that he could not easily take back. He, the cold hearted bastard of the dungeons, was now emotionally INVESTED in the child he had been so determined to hate.

So he was a bit uneasy with the position his decision to tell the story had put him in. And very, conflicted.

But, he acknowledged, it so far, had caused less problems than it had started to solve.

The story had led to the boy trusting him enough to agree to come down to his quarters. The boy had trailed behind him as they made the fairly short walk down towards the dungeons.

But even though Severus was walking ahead of Harry, it did not prevent him from noticing several peculiar things about how he carried himself.

His movements just seemed awkward. Like a bunch of individual movements, fighting for dominance, having to share a very limited space- so creating this appearance of- instead of rythmic movement... just a complete and utter mess.

For the most part, the boy kept his head down. He was nodding it actually if one looked closely. Occasionally he would look around, a complete look of panic on his face, only for his face to slacken and return back to drooping.

The way he walked was also very off. Slowly- laboriously, for a few steps, then very quickly- larger steps- back to slower, shorter ones- irregular- clumsy seeming. Disjointed.

Very very confusing.

And. The boy wasnt being quiet. He had hardly spoken a word in the time Severus had known him, but now- it was as if he was finding it hard to keep away from any thought that came to the boys head. And even more particular was that it seemed as if the boy was trying to say quite a lot, but because it was all coming out so quickly- and because like his movements it was all fighting for dominance- none of what he was saying made much sense at all.

Only bits and pieces, swallowing each other before they had fully formed.

He was saying everything, but to the ordinary observer, to a person who didnt care enough to attempt to think differently, he might as well have been saying nothing.

Severus, of course, was not a person to take things lightly. He listened. He had been a spy so long that he knew how to really pay attention, and to do so inconspicuously. His senses had sharpened to the point where he hardly needed to strain to hear what the boy was saying.

"To trust. Trust the man with the black on him. Black like death. Where is the death coming from. The magic castle its watching me. Yesterday it knew. I know. They dont know. The black cats are coming to take me away. I see them when they look at me. The walls are so big they are monsters they are closing in and the cats and the wizards they want to get me. But I have nothing to give them! Leave me alone! Stop! Stop! Stop! They are going to steal me in the night! That doesnt make sense! But I know! I know the truth! They want me because they know Im special. They know Im a monster too. Monster. Monster. Moooooonster."

And that was the most lucid seeming part that Severus had caught. The others. It was hard to pull together any major theme at all.

But one thing that kept filtering in was that the boy kept saying that "He needed to talk to the black cat monster man".

Severus had definitely been called worse, he figured, as he choked down an amused smile.

This was not funny. How just unfunny and just how serious this was getting was becoming more apparent by the second.

He was just chattering. And chattering. Non stop. And it was obvious to Severus it was controlling the child more than the child was controlling it.

It was sad. There was something seriously wrong with the child. He didnt know what yet. But he felt he would need to figure it out fairly quickly.

Eventually they made their way into Severus's quarters. It was when Severus entered his familiar quarters with their familiar smells that he once again noticed that Harry was absolutely filthy.

He wasnt sure whether to take care of this problem right now or to wait until the bot was in a more... coherent state. But, he eventually figured, a shower probably would not be too much to ask. Plus, he couldnt afford to be too afraid of pushing the child. And this was hardly a push, he felt, for anyone.

He asked the boy, softly, clearly, if he would take off his clothes for a shower.

The boy. Well. His chatter became even faster, how that was possible Severus did not know, and became inundated with spurts along the lines of "Hes going to steal me" and "Hes going to take me away from me".

Severus almost backed down from this. Almost. But he figured that if the boy couldnt make the choice for himself, someone would need to help him. Whatever basic tasks the child seemed incapable of doing were near the top of the list priority wise- and this definitely qualified as one of them. Start at the beginning. Start at the basics.

So Severus went over to Harry. He grabbed him securely by the arms. Making sure that the child felt the pressure there, was able to get oriented towards it, before telling him that he was going to help him take his shirt off.

The boy started screaming. Screaming as if he were being tortured.

But Severus had hardened himself to the task. With one quick snatch the childs shirt was removed.

And Severus was horrified.

Cuts. Scabs. Bruises. Scratches. Sores. And so many scars.

He was enraged. He could feel his blood pressure rising. He could hear the child next to him hyperventilating. And he could see him. He couldnt help but see him, and see him, and see him. He couldnt help but think of how every wound on that childs body told its own story of pain. There were so many injuries, the boys body told endless tales of abuse. And Severus could tell that a lot of the abuse, the scars, a person doesnt get that many scars from someone else. Those stories, those stories of pain, those announcements of pain, had come straight from the child.

It was too much. And worse, no one had prepared him for this. The headmaster had not even mentioned it. He didnt understand how this could have been overlooked. The child didnt deserve it. For this amount of injuries to have occured, the child had obviously already been overlooked too much already.

So. Severus grabbed some powder and flooed straight over to the hospital wing.

For what he figured would not be a pleasant discussion.


	17. Chapter 17

Out of no where Snape popped into her office.

It was very rude in her opinion, but she supposed that with Snape, she should be used to that by now.

She was not particularly fond of the man. Albus and Minerva and even Hagrid would occasionalpy try to convince her of his merits, but in her mind, they just did not- even if they did exist to the degree they were being sold to her, which she doubted- they did not make up for all of his flaws.

They did not make up for all the pain he had caused. She was a medi-witch, she understood pain, and over the years, the more she saw, the more she hated anyone who chose to cause it.

And Snape, maybe he didnt actively 'choose' to participate in some of the more vile death eater activities, he had, at one time, enjoyed it.

And to this day, he chose to be unpleasant. He chose to inflict low key suffering on almost all of those around him.

And that was more than enough for Poppy to hate him.

And it was more than enough to cause her to be furious when that man, that vile cruel man, came in to demand why Harry's pain had not been dealt with.

Because she didn't trust him not to add to it. Because she wanted to know what it WAS before speaking to him, the headmaster, or anyone about it. Because he had basically dragged the child out of there still in dirty underclothes.

Because she couldnt let the boy be hurt worse.

But it was odd. Snape actually sounded concerned. Sure, there was charged anger in his voice, but it also carried a wavering softer quality. One that he was attempting to hold back. A bit of genuine fear.

And this is what made Poppy stop. She couldnt say that she looked at the man and saw his dark stained robes turn angelic white in front of her, but for a second, the glimmer of recognition that, this was a man with facets of his being she was unaware of, came to the front of her mind.

He was more than she could know, and she was treating him, in her mind, as if he was less.

Because it was easier. To put him in a box. Deep down she knew this. If she could categorize him as 'someone evil' instead of 'someone who had done evil things', she would have a target for her hatred. She wouldnt have to be mad at the universe that horrible things happened in the world, she could instead be mad at Severus.

And, though she had glimpses of this realization occasionally, this time- was different.

Because here he was in front of her, and she had to make a choice. There were no hypotheticals. It was, trust that there is some good in him, or dont and shut the door on him forever. Because now that she was aware of why she hated him, she knew she would never get the energy behind the power of this realization again. She would never be able to set aside her pride, her fears, there would not be a strong enough push.

But, as this was not a hypothetical situation, she also had to deal with the practical realities involved. If she told him, and found out that he really couldnt be trusted, he could hurt that already severely pained child.

She was conflicted. There was so much at stake in either direction.

But someone needed to help that boy. And she knew in her heart that the small, yet insistent note in Snapes voice... was real.

So. She wouldnt close the door on him. Not yet.

She would answer his questions. She would inform the headmaster of the situation, and then... well the headmaster would take that into account she knew, she would make sure he knew to watch the pair, and then- she would back off and observe.

Nothing more was going to hurt that child if she could help it.

And if it meant consorting with the enemy, well, she didnt have to like it, but- her enemy or not- Harry needed as many friends as he could get-

And she wasnt going to turn down any offers.

Not when the state of the boy made it obvious that he had been denied too many offers already.


	18. Chapter 18

Harry was getting more and more upset. He could feel it in his bones, in between his bones, in his gut, in his heart, and everywhere else that could be touched by this sinking feeling dragging him below the core of the earth.

He couldnt stop it. Normal people did not feel like this. He knew that, vaguely, vaguely. He knew he was not supposed to be like this. But, the other people, he didnt even know what they were. Were they real people? Maybe they werent. Maybe they were all actors and everyone was playing some sort of prank on him.

Sometimes he looked at them and he could swear that just for a second there was a glitch in the system. Like, for a second, he would look and something wouldnt be right. And the other person would look like they made a huge mistake. And he would think in that moment that he KNEW the truth. But then things would start up again. And sometimes when things started up again he would... well. It was hard to say things were not real when they felt real sometimes too. When there was all this emotion being pushed at him, he couldnt deny that that was not real.

It was so real sometimes as to be completely overwhelming. It would be a chain of realness- of him being pretty sure that at least some things were real- and then there would be a break where he questioned if anything really was- but then... things would settle again.

Not for very long. But even though the states were muddled together- like a torturous song- eventually he could pick apart different melodies. Different clues.

The problem was there were too many songs. Too many things. Going on.

They werent really songs. He wished they were songs because most people liked music, but he knew that they werent, because most people did not like him much.

And if he was made of songs people would like him, logically.

He thought.

It was all very confusing. He tried to make it less confusing. He tried all the time. Whenever he got a moment where things felt- just a little bit- tightly wound- he would try to come up with ways in the future he could use to discern what was really going on.

He would think and think and try to reason with himself. He would use his own logic, and sometimes it helped, sometimes- when it came to very basic things- he had it ingrained enough where he could take it piece by piece- and for a minute the world would be his. For a minute he would win the small battle.

He was losing the war. He knew that. The battles took up too much of his energy. And they never ended. He could only keep up for so long before he would have to admit defeat.

And he was terrified of what that might finally mean. It. Whatever it was. Would be final.

But that was not now. He still fought. He still knew, hoped, that maybe, he could win.

Or, maybe even not win. All he really wanted was not to lose.

And he knew he was losing. And he couldnt stop it. And it was upsetting.

It was like this all the time. All these thoughts. All this effort. All this energy inside of him. It had to go somewhere, but, there was so much of it that it never had enough places to go.

He knew he was annoying. He knew he was weird. He knew the world would be better off without him. But, selfishly he sometimes felt, he had to keep going.

Even though he hurt people. He knew he did. He scared them. He didnt mean to scare them, he just couldnt help it.

And he hated himself for that. He hated that he couldnt help it. But he hated himself even more because the suggestion, there was always a suggestion in his head, that if he just tried a little harder...

But he tried as hard as he could. It just wasnt enough.

What was worse? To be able to control yourself and hurt people, to choose to do it? Or to watch yourself hurt others and wonder... if there was something more you could have done? To know that you really are no better than an animal.

Harry got more and more unsettled as all these thoughts raced in his head.

Because they were no where near this clear usually. And they werent even clear now. They were jumping all over each other, and he was having a very hard time keeping them all contained.

It hurt.

He had been pacing for a while. He had been doing as much possible to release at least SOME of this energy inside of himself for the better part of an hour.

Or was it only a few minutes?

Why couldnt anything be clear cut? Why did he have to know everything, but at the same time nothing?

He slammed his fist into the wall in frustration. He screamed. He couldnt TAKE it any more. It just needed to stop! It all just needed to stop! It needed to leave him alone! He didnt deserve this! He didnt! It all just needed to SHUT UP.

He just wanted silence. It didnt even have to be very long. He just wanted one second of silence. He just wanted one second where he didnt have to feel so scared.

He started crying again. Crying and punching. That man, the man who had looked at him so nicely before, he was going to come back and he was going to think Harry was a freak.

But what did Harry care. He was a freak. And it was even harder to pretend he wasnt than it was to just.

Be.

And so he hit the wall. Again and again. His hands hurt. He was pretty sure they were broken. Not just the knuckles. It was all broken. He was broken.

That man already knew he was broken. Hed seen his shame. Hed seen it all. And he was probably going to tell everyone and then... well.

It was going to be taken away from him. The only thing he had, they were going to want it. Because he was so bad. He couldnt have anything nice.

But he didnt have to like it.

And as he hit the wall again and again, with his fists, his feet, his forearms, his head, he figured...

If this was how it was going to be. If he couldnt win the war anyways.

At least he could go out on his own terms.

They hadnt taken that away from him.

Not yet.

One last battle.

And this one, he wasnt going to fight to win.


	19. Chapter 19

Severus was surprised at all Poppy told him. She had seemed hesitant and uncomfortable, like she always seemed when it came to him, but the hostility that was generally there was absent.

She just calmly- he was also impressed by how calm she was being, considering he was screaming when he arrived- explained to him that... yes, the majority of the childs injuries were self inflicted.

There was some scarring in some places that was obviously not, but, on the majority of the skin the child could actually reach on his own, the handiwork was his own.

This, Severus found, was incredibly unsettling. The injuries on the child were for the most part anything but minor. It would have to take something very big, very troubling, fo the child to feel that he had to go to the extent he had in hurting himself.

Not that any degree of this would be acceptable, but with the child, it was obvious that all sense of restraint had been lost long ago.

Which meant this was going to be very difficult. The child, well, his sense of self control... was definitely grossly impacted.

But, from his observations, what was making this the most terrifying was the fact that this lack of self control wasnt something that came lightly. It wasnt just a child testing the waters-

It was a child drowning in them.

He needed more help than Severus could give.

Severus could be there- he could be Harrys pillar- but someone else needed to make it so Harry could stand straight enough to hold on.

They needed an expert.

And they were going to need a lot of patience.

...

Severus flooed again, this time to Saint Mungos.

He didnt know exactly what he was doing, where he was going, what- who he was trying to find. He did know that there was a floor for patients who had... issues with their minds.

He wasnt sure what else to call it. That seemed like a very belittling terminology- like they were defective in some way- but he wasnt sure what else to understand it as.

He hoped that this was the right place. That he was doing the right thing.

He marched up the stairs, taking them three by three, as he made his way upwards.

He walked in. He noticed a few individuals walking around in clothing that strayed far from their waists. They were all doing different things, some talking to each other, some talking to themselves, some rocking.

The rocking is what really caught Severus's attention.

Because, he realized, Harry did that. He realized that, if he couldnt get Harry to stop doing that then he might just be looking at Harry in a couple decades right then.

It made him even more desperate to talk to someone. To get help. To get answers.

He rushed up towards the desk that was centered in the large room. There were two people there, a man and a woman. They were both fairly young. Both talking to each other with lots of inflection and very little substance.

Severus initially tried to get their attention by clearing his throat. And then he asked himself why, when it normally was the farthest thing from his mind, was he being so polite.

So he opened his mouth and spoke deeply and clearly.

"I have a situation that requires the utmost attention and confidentiality. Where to I reach the person in charge?"

The two looked at him as if he were speaking Trollish. They glanced at each other and resumed their conversation completely ignoring the man before them.

This was not something Severus was going to allow.

"Excuse me. I know that I find your chatter about such important things as what your boyfriend said to you last night, and what sort of broomstick you are saving up to buy, incredibly fascinating... but if you would please do your jobs and stop acting like complete imbeciles I would be more than flattered. Now, I ask again, who is the one in charge?"

The two looked each other again before the girl sighed and left, after giving him a glare, for a moment.

The boy took this time to try to stare Severus down, but it only took one glare for him to pale and deliberately look the other direction.

Coward.

The girl came back a few minutes later with a petite woman who looked to be in her thirties.

She looked at Severus, eyes a pale sea green covered by thick rimmed glasses, and gestured him towards a smaller room off to the side.

Severus followed immediately.

"I think we will be more comfortable here. Now what is it I can help you with?"

...

Severus explained the situation. Well, he explained the best he could. He explained what he knew, which was less than he would have liked, and then he waited.

She looked at him for a moment. Really studied him, and then she sighed.

"Although you seem as if you have been made to believe differently, I am not in charge here. The man in charge is out of town for the week, and I am a stand in. This is both good and bad for you in this situation. Good, because I happen to specialize in the field of child and adolescent issues, but bad because during the day- I have responsibilites here. But, there is an option. The night shift starts at 6. I suppose I could come after then, talk to the child, and we can come to a plan of what to do afterwards. Is this acceptable to you?"

Severus thought a moment. He supposed it would be. It actually might work out better. It would be less likely for anyone to spot this going on later in the night. But there was just one thing he wasnt sure of. Why couldnt she just tell him what was wrong? If he knew, well, he could try to fix it himself.

He explained this to her and she looked at him very seriously.

"This is a human being. Not a machine. The child sounds as if he has some very severe, very disabling, very legitimate issues. As much as we, as witches and wizards, are lead to believe- not everything can be just fixed with a wave of a wand."

Severus nodded. He supposed she knew what she was talking about, and he definitely supposed that he did not, so he would listen.

He would let her talk to the boy. Tonight.


	20. Chapter 20

NOTE:

I just want to thank all who have reviewed this story. If anyone has any suggestions, anything to say, please feel free to contact me. Review, privately, anything. And thank you all again.

...

It wasnt much later that he realized that he needed her NOW.

He flooed home, after making arrangements with the healer, and found...

Well. He never never never should have left the child alone.

When he saw the child, just laying there, looking half dead- for a second he feared that he had been too late.

That he, the boys last hope, had failed Harry too.

He felt like he was going to scream, his throat was strangling him, everything was going dark. Everything just... sunk in to him at once. He was having a hard time chasing it away.

But he knew he had to do it. He could react and beat himself up and do all of that later- he had to hold it off right now.

He had to help Harry.

He immediately went to Harry. The boys eyes were closed and there was so much blood. His knuckles were raw and swollen, he had obviously done quite a bit of damage.

It made Severus want to be sick. He had to take a moment, just a moment, to hold back a retch.

It wasnt just the boys hands that were damaged. It seemed as if anything that was battered before had moved even closer towards broken.

But the boy wasnt broken yet. Severus, if it took every bit of strength he had, was not going to let that happen.

This boy was going to have a life. And, if Severus could do anything about it, his life would NOT be just endless refrains of THIS.

But right now, he had to get through THIS. He had to focus on what was right in front of him.

He grabbed the boy lightly. He didnt want to exacerbate any injuries that were already there.

The boy groaned. It was one of the most beautiful and welcome sounds that Severus had ever heard.

He had already realized the boy was alive. So many years of spying had made determining that quickly very vital.

But it was still nice to hear confirmation.

The boy was breathing rather erratically. Severus knew that while it seemed as if the child would be ok, that he had merely knocked himself out (and in the process had done quite a bit of additional damage), Severus also knew that head injuries were not something to take lightly.

He needed to floo Poppy.

No.

He needed more than that.

And for the second time that day, only this time- with the boy who had been the reason behind the first visit- he flooed, child in arms, to Saint Mungos.

Hopefully they would get to the bottom of this.

Or, at least, they could finally start heading in the right direction.


	21. Chapter 21

The second they arrived at the hospital they were greeted by healers.

Severus cursed himself for being so stupid.

The first time he visited he was by himself, and even though the matter has been about the boy, he hadnt actually dragged 'the bloody boy who lived' through a crowded hospital hallway with no protection from all of the eyes currently cutting across the pair.

So stupid.

He needed to do something. But he just wasnt sure WHAT.

Then he realized... they hadnt seen the childs face. Just the slumped over form of a hurt black haired boy.

He could fix this.

Those years of spying were really coming in handy lately. Part of being a spy was being able to perform acts no one would believe... without even giving them a chance to test that hypothesis. Inconspicuous magic.

A simple charm really. He wasnt sure how long it would hold. Hopefully long enough for physical matters to be taken care of- stabilize the child- and then... they could go upstairs and figure things out once and for all.

The good thing was... for all the effort the boy had put into hurting himself... It would be likely that he would be put to physical rights fairly quickly. The magical world was very advanced when it came to medicine involving the body.

Severus just hoped this was also the case with medicine involving the mind.

They had laid the child down on a bed. The one doctor was questioning him as to what happened while another was scanning the boys head.

"A bit of a concussion. Actually, from what you have described... a lot less major than might be expected. The child is obviously a fighter."

He said all of this while looking at the massive display of scars and injuries on the boy. He frowned more and more as he looked closer and closer.

"Sir. I am going to need to talk to you in private about... your boy."

He said this will a severe tone. One that had obvious notes of disgust.

Once the pair were out of earshot the questions began.

"Did you know that the child has many injuries in different stages of healing?"

"Do you know how this happened?"

"You are just his professor you say?"

"You do know we will have to report this to the authorities"

Severus was getting more and more nervous.

He was... pretty sure at this point... he had made the wrong decision in coming here.

He was thinking of different ways to escape this situation when the best chance of that happening possible came storming in.

Dumbledore.

He immediately strode towards the doctors, and within seconds had them hustling towards the door.

As they walked out, Dumbledore looked at Severus and whispered one word.

"Go"

Severus didnt need to be told twice. The child was awakening. Groggy. But by this point was more conscious than not.

He grabbed a magical wheelchair, spoke to it, and off it went with the child upstairs to the floor with the doctors he REALLY needed.

And Severus, like he would always try to be, stayed right there by him.

Until they reached the door, walked through, took a deep breath, and realized- this, whatever this was, was IT.

Severus just hoped that, for the boys sake, IT was enough.


	22. Chapter 22

She was both surprised and not surprised to see them as they rushed in.

The man from earlier, and the boy that they had discussed at length.

She had planned on going over and seeing them later on, from just what she had gathered from the discussion they had had earlier- the boy was in desperate need of help.

Which was why, though startled, she was not completely surprised.

The man came along with the boy who was in a magic spelled wheel chair and was groaning seeming to become more and more alert and agitated the louder he groaned.

She gestured to the man to come with her, for the second time that day, and to bring the child.

This situation required a lot of handling, delicate handling, urgent handling.

The man and boy followed. The boy seemed to be trying to rise from the wheel-chair, but the mans hand was securely holding on to his back, making sure that he stay secured.

As soon as they got into her office, she asked them to both sit down.

She asked the obvious questions first, what had happened, what was the medical state of the boy, was he all set to... begin?

After Severus explained everything, including the fact that things were being sorted by the headmaster downstairs, the healer, Healer. Mallory, asked if she could speak to Harry in private.

Severus was reluctant to oblige. The safety of the child was of the utmost importance, but, he had spent time studying the woman- reading her- and he had, and he was pretty good at what he did, had judged that she really meant the boy no harm.

But he would wait outdoors. Not far from the child, and he put a spell to prevent apparation on the room. Better safe than sorry.

He was nervous as to what the healer would find.

...

"Harry, I would like to ask you some questions if that would be ok with you?", she asked the child in a very soothing and non-threatening voice.

"Why do you need to ask me questions if you already know the answers? I know what you are. I know why Im here. You all want to TRICK me! You all want to sit there and laugh and laugh at me while I fight and scream and its NOT FAIR! Why cant you all just LEAVE ME ALONE?"

Harry was getting louder and louder as this speech fell from his mouth.

She looked at him as she spoke. "Harry, no one is here to hurt you. I promise you that. In fact. If there is a question that you DO NOT want to answer, that is perfectly fine. I just want to speak to you. Get to know you a little bit better. You seem like a very bright boy."

Harry looked at her rapidly from side to side. He didnt know if he could trust her. But... the man had brought him here. He trusted that man. He was a little bit angry with him for exposing his secrets- his injuries, in fact, he was storming with emotions, but he knew that the man... had not meant to hurt him. And. Had said he had even wanted to help Harry.

And maybe she would help too. If the man trusted her, maybe she was ok. Maybe she would listen. Maybe she would understand.

He so badly wanted someone to understand. Someone to make everything stop spinning around. Someone maybe... someone... who could make things just a little less... painful.

So he talked to her. He tried to tell her everything. About all the thoughts rushing towards him all the time. How scared he was. How it wasnt always like this. How sometimes... he couldnt pick himself up. How sometimes it felt like he was in a vice, how sometimes he felt so sad that he just... couldnt do anything. Anything except wish that he didnt feel that way. About the self injury. About how he would feel like scum- would feel like the worst person in the world- how he wanted to just... waste away sometimes. How things were always changing. Even when they felt like they were getting good, it would eventually sour. It would get worse. And it was always so hard.

She listened attentively, sympathetically. The boys speech was very rapid, very tangentical, but... she was patient. She listened. She needed the boy to know that she would not stop listening.

She was, in her mind, deciding what to do with the boy. He hadnt claimed to be suicidal, though he had admitted to feeling it- and almost going through with it- in the past. Plus, the level of intense disfunction in the child, in addition to the fact that he had JUST hurt himself...

She needed to admit him. Just for a few days hopefully. But- this needed immediate intervention. It was too serious a thing to risk.

Now. She needed to talk to the man who brought him in.

She told the boy that she would be right back. Reassured him several times that he would be back with the man, Severus, and that everything was GOING to get better.

He just needed to be patient.

She walked out of the room.

This was going to be a long talk. But. It was just the talk they needed to have she believed.

She just hoped they were all ready for it.


	23. Chapter 23

Authers note:

Sorry its been so long. I dont know how regularly I will be updating this, and this chapter is a bit... technical, but in hopefully after this fairly long explanation... things can truly begin

—

"There are no easy answers when it comes to mental illness," she began as she took in the impressively stiff posture of the man before her.

"From what I have seen so far, and this diagnosis is tentative, it appears to me as if Harry is suffering from Bipolar disorder."

The man gave her a blank look, which was not at all surprising. The lack of information on mental health issues in the magical world had stopped being anything but incredibly frustrating and depressing years and years ago.

"Bipolar disorder is a condition characterized by fluctuations between extremely high moods and extremely low moods. Oftentimes, in presentation, it remains this simple. An individual comes in with a history of both mood episodes occurring, and a diagnosis is easily made. Harry however, is doing something that is called 'rapid cycling' which means that these periods of high moods and low moods are happening very quickly, partially explaining his feelings of being disoriented. To add to this, I unfortunately believe he is also suffering from mixed episodes, which he is also cyclig rapidly through, which, for anyone, but especially for a young child, would be constantly terrifying. Imagine the saddest you have ever been, the worst you have ever felt about yourself, and now imagine having overdosed on pepper up potions at the same time. The danger with mixed episodes, also commonly referred to as dysphoric mania, is that a person has many if not all the horrifying symptoms of depression- but also, all this energy that goes towards charging and empowering those feelings. Like feeling suicidal, which Harry has opened up to me about feeling, and realizing that you have all the energy in the world to devote towards hating yourself and wanting to kill yourself.

Like I said, this is all very complicated, but Harry is a very sick boy. He has been suffering for years, and it has done damage. It is hard NOT to hate yourself, or think you are evil, when you are constantly bouncing between emotional states that are out of your control, especially mixed ones, and especially when it concerns rapid cycling. Wouldnt you be confused if you found yourself spinning in a dark tunnel, alone, with only the echos of your own pain and fear to amplify and worsen your own situatuon? It helps as well to explain the self harm, which I think can be managed as we settle those rapid fire negative associations constantly flooding Harrys brain down a little bit.

Now, this is the part of what I am saying that I am a bit more uncertain about. Harry is also psychotic. As I said, after all he has been through, it is almost a natural reaction. What I WOULD like to try to figure out is whether or not my bipolar diagnosis is correct and the psychotic features have just splintered off from the trauma of dealing with all of that, or whether the hallucinations and delusions he is facing are part of a different parallel condition, schizoaffective disorder.

But really, it hardly matters. What DOES matter is that, we need to make Harrys mind a less terrifying place for him to be. And in order for his mind to be less frightening, he needs to be in a very calm environment. That is why I would like to have him stay with us for a few days. But that is up to you.

Now, I may be wrong. And there are many people who are hesistant to associate any sort of bipolar label with any child- but it is the best and most developed picture that I can give you as to my guess as to what Harry is experiencing. Bipolar 1 disorder with mixed and psychotic features.

Fortunately, no matter what you might be feeling right now, or what Harry is probably feeling fairly frequently, this is not a death sentence. There are things that can be done to improve his situation greatly. There are many, many, highly successful people with this condition. And I can say that, right now, we are at the beginning of a journey towards improvement that means that things are very likely to only get better.

But as I said, it will take a lot of work. Harry will need a lot of support, which if you allow, I will help provide, and understanding. And it will not be easy. But, I can help both of you, and I would really like to do so.

I know this is a lot to take in. That is why I have several books that I would like to give you as you make your decision on where you would like to go next."

And with that long speech, and a look at the man before her who seemed to age several years in just a few minutes, she left a childs fate in his hands and just hoped he would know what to do with it.


	24. Chapter 24

There was no question in Severus's mind on what he was going to do. He had to leave the boy. He just hoped that the Headmaster would see things the same way as he did. That, in the childs current condition, there really was no other option.

It wasn't as if Harry, if Severus decided to take him back against the orders of the healer, would be able to really participate in classes. Hell, Severus wasnt even sure the boy could even perform basic tasks in his current state.

His whole body was covered in cuts and bruises and all sorts of damage. Severus hadnt see injuries that absolutely disturbing since the last war.

What it came down to was, he did not want to see Lily's son suffer. And if the healer was correct, that was pretty much all he was used to feeling.

So he left the child. He nodded to the healer before him, seeing the relief in her eyes, as he was lead away to sign some papers.

Fortunately, as a professor at the school Harry was currently attending, and through special permissions given to him from Dumbledore, he was allowed to act in loco parentis and therefore, he recieved no trouble in signing Harry over to the care of the healers.

He hoped he was making the right decision... he was certainly going to read all that he could on what Harry was dealing with so that, when he was able, when Harry was in a less critical state, he could be there to help.

But for now, he would leave it to the people who already had some idea as to what was going on.

—-

She hated this part. Absolutely hated it.

You would think that admitting patients in to be helped would be something that would make her happy, seeing these people finally maybe having the chance to be healed, but she did not enjoy it.

There was too much pain in getting there, and she hated seeing it in their eyes.

As she went and retrieved the boy, grabbing Curtis, one of her assistants, with her to make sure if things went wrong the child would remain safe, she thought of all that was to come.

First thing first, the boy would need to be stabilized. That meant probably potions.

It was funny to her really, the fact that the potions generally given to patients were really very similar to those developed by muggles, only with some slight differences to help strengthen magical cores.

Because, really, if a wizard or witch has been sick a while, their magical core is going to be weakened. It takes a lot of energy from every aspect of a persons being in order to fight pain, whether it be physical or mental, and the fact that physical pain is generally less confusing to mediwitches and mediwizards means that mental pain can cause more damage than one might expect.

So, as with every other part of Harry's being, his magical core would need some assistance in straightening itself out and learning to deal with his conditions.

Hopefully the potions would help with that. Because the boy would need them, absolutely no question as to otherwise.

As she wheeled the boy to what would be his room she looked down on him. She knew he was Harry Potter, she had been informed to as much, but she also knew that... this was going to be tricky.

She had to keep his identity secret WITHOUT adding more confusion and uncertainty to the childs world. This meant, no name changes. Harry would remain Harry. Harry just... couldnt be Harry Potter.

It was good that the charm placed on the child hadnt given him away yet. Harry was just a young, slightly short and very scrawny, black haired boy with dark black eyes and a pale complexion. In fact, the boy looked very much like the man who had brought him in, she realized with a quick chuckle as she wondered if the man had realized what he had done.

The child looked at quickly and worredly her as she chucked. She immediately stopped. Poor boy, living so hard as he had without assistance, had lead to a psychotic depression. It had, from what she could gather from the disjointed way the child spoke, gotten worse and worse over time.

He was going to need a lot of help.

And like Severus Snape, she knew that the best place to start was at the basics. Which meant, as she rounded the last corner towards the childrens section of the floor... she was going to need to go over a few things.

—-

Harry couldnt believe the man had just left him there! He had trusted the Snape man!

Stupid stupid stupid.

He started banging his hands against his head as they were grabbed, softly from him by the woman in front of him.

She had been kind to him so far, he had to admit... but some of the things she was asking from him... he didnt think he could do.

She had rules. He wasnt good at following the rules. He tried and tried and tried to follow them but there was so much going on in his mind that no matter how hard he tried the rules would drift away from his mind. He didnt know if he could do it. She said they would all help him but... how was he supposed to know they werent lying? How was he supposed to trust ANYTHING?

And the worst part was... she said the number one rule, the biggest and most important one was, that he couldnt hurt himself anymore. That if he felt like he wanted to, he had to push the red button by his bed immediately, or tell one of the people in white nearby.

He couldnt do that. They didnt know how bad he was. How he DESERVED all the pain he gave himself. He tried to tell her that but she kept repeating the same thing again and again about the button until he felt like he wanted to to start punching the walls again.

But he was too far away, which lead to him hitting himself instead.

He got madder and madder and madder. Why couldnt she just let him have ONE THING? She didnt realize how bad he was... and she didnt realize just how much he needed to hurt himself.

It was all he had.

But she kept holding on. She kept holding and holding until... eventually, he stopped.

He just felt so broken all the time.

And then the tears came.

The healer just sat with him. Next to him. As he cried. Eventually she released his arms and they just sat in silence as Harry cried.

She repeated the rules to him as eventually the cries turned to sniffles.

The rules were very simple, she outlined as she told him of the schedule he would need to follow, and everyone was there to help.

There was a point system in place which lead to different levels. Right now, he was on level 1. Everyone starts out on level 1, and it didnt mean he was bad or a failure for being there.

And they would help him, and he WOULD do better. He would feel better.

He just had to trust them.

He had to let them help him.

He had to work with them to help himself.

And that meant, right now, he was going to have to drink this potion. And if he did, he would get a point. It was that easy!

And things, finally, could start to get better.

They were a team now.


	25. Chapter 25

Authors note: I dont plan on leaving Harry hospitalized for super super long- but... we will see how this goes. Right now, Harry needs more help than Snape can give... but Snape/Harry interactions will feature more and more as the story goes on.

As soon as the healer had left, after getting Harry to take his medication- poison poision poison!- Harry flopped his shoes on the ground and burrowed himself underneath the covers on his bed as far as he could go.

As such, it took a while for the red haired boy across the room to get his attention.

"Ahem," the red haired boy started. "Excuse me. Hellllllllllo!"

Harry just wanted him to go away. Didn't the blonde boy see that Harry just wanted to disappear?

"Whatever, freak." The red haired boy said after failing to get Harry's attention after a few more minutes.

And Harry's heart broke just a little bit more. While he knew he was a freak, he hated when people so obviously reminded him.

He started to pick at his arms. The scabs ripping away as the blood started to rush to the surface.

It didnt take long for his white sheets to be stained red.

"Hey, you arent supposed to do that," the red haired boy whispered. "They will take you away and lock you up even more if they see you doing that."

And so Harry started to cry. Wasn't it bad enough? He was already in a strange and scary place away from everything even remotely familiar... and all of these people were giving him rules and WASN'T IT ENOUGH?

These thoughts got louder, and so did his crying as he realized he was stuck in another place with someone who hated him.

After a while the screaming started again. And again, it took a while for him to realize it was coming from him. Fortunately though, it took the attendant Curtis almost no time at all.

He rushed into the room, and seeing the bloody sheets, immediately grabbed Harry and held him as he pressed the red button near his bed to notify the rest of the crew.

Poor child.

This was a common thing really. It took a while for people to adjust, those of all ages, so Curtis was less than surprised.

He held on to the boy until Healer Mallory came back into the room.

She surveyed the scene quickly before saying, "Harry. I need you to look at me."

She let the words sit in the air for a second before walking closer towards the boy and repeating them again softer.

"Harry, I need you to look at me right now."

And after a second Harry did. His glasses were dirty and his eyes were red and his arms were dripping and oozing. She sighed.

"Harry. This is not ok. We talked about this. You can not hurt yourself any more."

And Harry started choking on his tears.

She hated this part too. She knew she sounded stern and maybe even a bit as if she were lacking compassion, but she had found that being firm and controlled allowed her patients to feel as if they could trust her. It made them feel safe to know her expectations. Made things seem slightly less confusing.

"Harry. I need you to understand that this was not ok. I know you are in pain, and I know this is all very confusing and difficult and scary. But I told you the rules earlier. I know you are still adjusting so this time it is just a warning, but this cannot happen again. Do you understand? I need you to look at me and tell me that you understand."

And Harry did. He was still crying, but he looked at her through those teary eyes and nodded.

That was enough for now. But she wasn't going to leave the boy yet. Not until she heard just exactly what had happened.

—-

She cursed herself a short while later as sat in her office drinking a spot of tea. She had made a mistake.

She should have never left Harry, in his fragile state, with Trevor.

Trevor was definitely a work in progress when it came to dealing with others. His trauma from his abusive parents and his conduct disorder resulting from that really did not make for a good roommate for someone in Harry's condition.

It was just that, they were so overcrowded. She hadn't thought much beyond being happy that there was a bed open when she had lead Harry to that room.

Well, she thought, at least there will be another bed opened tomorrow. Brian would be leaving and that left a bed in Patrick's room wide open.

She sighed. Patrick. Well. She supposed it would be a better fit than Trevor.

She just had to help Harry make it through the rest of the night.

—-

Severus had been reading for a while when the headmaster popped into his quarters.

The headmaster, upon seeing Severus hunched over the books, smiled just a bit as he reminded of his young friends school days. He had always been a voracious learner.

"So my boy. Talk to me." He said as he walked towards the desk.

"It is not going to be easy." Severus said as he caught the headmaster's eye. "But there is hope."

He gestured towards the books, and a second later a chair flew across the room.

Albus sat down and grabbed one of the books Severus had left half open. This was going to be a long night, but if it would make tomorrow easier for that small child it would be more than worth it.


	26. Chapter 26

Patrick didnt even notice when Harry was brought to his room later in the day. Not for a minute or two at the very least.

He was too busy staring at the walls. The walls that were closing in very slowly on him and all of those around him. The walls that he was very sure where breathing.

In and out. In and out. In and out. Maybe the martian air had finally stopped being so toxic. How he wished he had his space suit... but it was being held by the aliens in the white suits around him! Blast it!

He knew that they were watching him. Trying to pick his brain so they would know how to most easily dissect it later. He knew all this as he stared at the wall and watched it breathe in and out.

He didnt know how he had been so stupid as to get caught by them! All he had been trying to do was save his sister... how was he supposed to know that this planet had stronger gravity than his own and that she wouldnt be able to float away if he pushed her. He just didnt want her to be captured that was all... he didnt mean for them to catch her and for Dad to get so angry. He was part of it too. That wasnt their dad. Their dad wouldnt get so angry at him for doing the right thing. He had to be a pod person. No one was safe. They were all out to steal his brains. He knew it. He just knew it.

And then they bring a new boy in! Of course they do! To try to get him to talk! Well. Hes not going to talk. They can forget that. No no no no no.

—-

Harry stared at the other boy curiously, comparing. The other boy was taller than he was. He had glasses on too though, even more smudged and gross looking than Harry's own. And he was rocking, same as Harry did sometimes. Harry wondered, as he looked at him, if the other boy was scared too.

—-

Pretty soon the boys were taken down to group.

It wasnt a large group. Made up of Harry, the two other boys already introduced, and two very skinny very identical girls with hair that was patchy in different places.

Of course, there was also one of the white coated adults already sitting there when Harry had been brought down.

It was weird. He was very uncomfortable as he sat around and realized people were staring at him. So uncomfortable that, as soon as the adult had started speaking he put his hands in his hears and closed his eyes.

The adult sighed as he saw this. It was always hardest at the beginning. For now, he would allow it.

The rest of the room started filling up with sound. Ruby and Robin were complaining about food, Patrick was whispering to himself something about the walls- the man made a note to check in on that later, and Trevor was complaining about EVERYTHING.

But the person he most wanted to hear from was the new boy, Harry.

Unfortunately for him, Harry just wasnt ready

—-

Harry knew he was being bad. He knew it he knew it. The man was sighing, which he knew from how often other people sighed meant that he was annoyed.

Harry was just so annoying! He was so bad. He wanted so badly to start hitting himself. To just make things a little easier. But the one lady had said that that was bad.

What did she know though. What did she know? He was bad and he deserved to be punished for it. He did!

But he also remembered that... he wasnt supposed to do it. She told him that. And as he occasionally went to pick at a scab when he thought no one was looking... that would start playing in his head. That it wasnt acceptable. That he shouldnt do it.

It was just so frustrating. He wanted to do it so bad! It would feel so so good. But now he felt GUILTY for doing it. And that made him angry.

So he just sat there in group. Sad that everyone was looking at him and seeing how disgusting and bad he was, and shaking because he had no way, no outlet, to deal with those feelings.

He really didnt know how long he could last without hurting himself.

But he remembered Healer Mallory's eyes when she had looked at him and told him that it wasnt ok. She had looked so serious! She looked so serious that... maybe she knew what she was talking about. Maybe.

Maybe he could trust her. But that meant he had to try. He had to try to give up the one thing that made the pain less, hurting himself. And that was going to be tough.

But maybe. Just maybe... it was bad. And maybe just maybe... though right now he was having a hard time believing it, maybe just maybe he DIDNT deserve it.

—-

It had been a long night. Severus, Severus was tired. He was tired, and the hardest work hadnt even begun yet.

But he felt like he knew, just a little bit better, what he was dealing with. And knowledge is always power in his book.

He reminded himself of this as he knocked on the door of Number 4 Privet Drive.

He was bound not to enjoy this. He knew as much.

But he was also going to make sure the muggles werent enjoying it either, because he needed answers.

And at this point, wasnt too picky on how he was planning on getting them.


	27. Chapter 27

****Christmas update- even though its unfortunately not christmas themed because of the story's timeline. But- hoping to get back to writing this! Thanks for everyones patience

If the situation hadn't been so dire Severus would have started laughing.

The group that stood in front of him was one of the saddest sights he had seen in a while.

He knew the look of Petunia, so while her long drawn out horse like face was unpleasant, it wasn't necessarily surprising.

She was looking at him with such a deep look of disgust that he couldn't help but think of the muggle phrase "if you keep making that face it will stick that way", and the more he thought about it the more he wished that it would come true.

Not that it would have hurt her looks all that much, it would be hard for anything to make her more unattractive than she was naturally.

The man in front of her was therefore fitting. Big and bulky and red, he looked like an oversized baby in the middle of a horrible temper tantrum.

And then there was the boy.

The boy was who enraged him the most.

He was everything that he had expected Harry to be.

Big, and if not a good deal spoiled, otherwise, more than well provided for.

But there was a look in the boys eyes that made him stop for just a second. While the looks in the eyes of the Dursley adults in front of him showed anger and loathing, all the eyes of the boy in front of him showed were... fear, and perhaps...

A bit of concern?

He would start there. He could deal with the parents later, right now, he needed answers, and he was more than willing to stoop to the point of interrogating one child if it meant helping another.

With that he grabbed the boys sleeve, and over the very loud and obnoxious protests of the horse and the big baby, he dragged him over towards the kitchen and quickly placed a shielding charm over the door to prevent interruptions.

By the look of the boy, that was probably where he would be the most comfortable.

He was of course planning on using legilimency, but he also figured... Harry could use as many friends as he could get, and if the read of concern he had read on the boy Dursleys face was legitimate, and aimed more towards Harrys welfare instead of his own, then this might be a good chance for something decent for Harry.

So he would start with mere questions.

And so he starts off with an introduction.

"Mr. Dursley, I hope that you have surmised that I am here regarding your cousin Harry? I would like to ask you a few questions and I would implore you to provide me with detailed and complete answers."

The Dursley boy just looks at him with a look that he recognizes well as one he recieves from particularly confused students. He decides to modify the vocabularly he uses to fit, as he now recognizes, a frightened child. Those days of spying, of needing to know how to speak and get information out of a varied spectrum of indiciduals, he is greatful can now come in handy.

He tries again.

"I would like to ask you some questions about Harry. He is in trouble and I am trying to help him."

Some clarity comes into the boy Dursleys eyes at this. In a stuttering voice the boy starts answering.

"Harry is really weird. He says really weird things sometimes and sometimes... he scares me. He gets these periods where he stops eating and walks around the house looking like he is always wanting to cry, and one time..."

The boy stops.

Severus looks at him hoping he will continue on his own, but when he doesnt he decides to nudge him further.

"Continue Mr. Dursley"

The boy meets his eyes for a brief moment, and then seems to steel himself for what he is about to say next.

"Well mister... one time... one time he asked me... to kill him?"

The boy looks away. There is a long silence that fills up the whole room.

The boy at once starts talking again, really fast, as if to force himself to continue past his own discomfort and get through to what else he wants to say as quickly as possible.

"Sometimes... well. Mister... he can be a real spaz. The slightest thing can scare him and he... he does scary things. He scares EVERYONE, even me, and I dont even like him that much."

He looks away, getting red in the face, almost as if in shame and then continues again.

"Well. Its not that I hate him or anything. Not anymore. Its just. My parents. They don't like him at all. They think hes a freak. And I mean. They are kind of right"

The boy looks back at Severus, sees the look on the mans face and then blanches.

"I mean, no! I mean. He just does weird stuff all the time! Thats all! Im not trying to be mean when I say it, honest! I even feel bad for him because I dont even think he can help it. Its just. Its so..."

With this he forces himself to meet the mans eyes and a look of determination sets on his face...

"You... you say you can help him?"

Severus nods. And starts to speak.

"I think, Mr. Dursley, that there is a good chance that Harry can be helped. But if I am to help him I will need all the information I can gather, and he will potentially need significant support from people in his life that can care for him. At this time, I do not believe that your parents, from what I have gathered from- what you muggles might call- 'a mind read' can be those individuals. However, I do believe, that the support of a familiar peer Harry's own age, might be of some benefit."

He stops, realizing that he might have again gone over the head of the young boy in front of him.

He rewords.

"Yes. I think Harry can need help, but he needs all the friends he can get Mr. Dursley"

And with that- the boy looks up to him again, uncertainly at first, and then after a second he gives a determined grin.

"Well. Then its time I introduced myself- Hi. Im Dudley, Harry's cousin, and... Harry's friend."

And with that, the interrogation turned into a chat, and a little bit more light was cast on the subject.

And Severus realized, after being given so much more information, that this puzzle that was Harry Potter, was too complicated to be solved in any way quickly and easily.

Good thing Severus wasn't a man who gave up easily.


End file.
